


Wildflower Silk Shroud

by junko



Series: Curse of the Nue [37]
Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-02
Updated: 2012-10-02
Packaged: 2017-11-15 12:27:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junko/pseuds/junko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few between-canon drabbles that lead up to a startling revelation for Renji...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wildflower Silk Shroud

**Author's Note:**

> A thousand pardons. I did not research seamstresses in ancient Japan. Clearly, the final scene takes place in the Downton Abbey version of the Kuchiki manor.

As the wildflower silk fluttered down to cover Renji’s body, Byakuya thought, _Not only a worthy opponent, but always so much stronger than I expect._

Byakuya knew he needed to hurry to the execution, but he stood over Renji for a moment. 

Renji was dying, but not yet dead. 

Byakuya should deliver the killing blow. It was his duty to finish things with certainty. Besides, the last time he hesitated like this it had been at Rukia’s insistence to show mercy for Ichigo Kurosaki. Only that stubborn boy hadn’t died at all, but come back stronger. 

It was that thought that stopped his hand.

“Would you?” Byakuya asked Renji’s still and unmoving form. Byakuya’s hand left Senbonzakura to trail over the spot at his heart where Renji’s zanpaktō had shattered. He could almost feel it—a shard, a tooth of Zabimaru—lodged there, like a hot spike. Byakuya didn’t know if something had truly pierced him, or if it was just the physical manifestation of his breaking heart that he felt. “Not that you ever obey me, Renji Abarai. But, listen now and listen well. If I walk away—if I afford you this final mercy, will you fight your way back to me?”

Byakuya stood for a moment more, silent and hopeful.

Then, he felt something—a barely imperceptible vibration, like a low growl--reverberating against his heart.

It was enough, but just to be certain, Byakuya said as he turned away, “Don’t you dare disappoint me, Renji.”

#

 _Besides_ , Byakuya asked himself as he climbed the stairs, _was it really his duty to kill Renji or just stop him from committing further treason?_

Technically, the law only required Byakuya to keep his subordinates in line. He’d more than done that. Renji wouldn’t be getting up any time soon—certainly not in time to disrupt the execution. If Renji lived, it wouldn’t be because Byakuya Kuchiki disobeyed the law; it would be because Renji Abarai was the most stubborn creature in the entire Soul Society.

 _Hmmm_ , Byakuya considered as he reached the top, _a strangely satisfying conclusion._

He could see the Sōkyoku, and the few gathered captains. Byakuya took a moment to compose his expression and school his thoughts. 

_I don’t want to watch her die._

But, in the great irony of his life, Byakuya’s family’s honor depended upon his ability to show no affection for kin. His family required him not to care about family. His duty to his nobility was to stand by and watch coldly as his sister, looking so much like his wife, gave her life for… what? 

He took in a deep breath and wiped the blood from his cheek. It was not for him to question the decisions of Central. He was required to uphold the law at all cost. He couldn’t waiver. Duty and honor were all that were left to him now.

Senbonzakura sang quietly, steadily. Byakuya let the myriad of voices surround him, protect him. They had always been his greatest defense; he would let them carry him forward now. He let Senbonzakura’s song wash away all hesitation, as he strode calmly, purposely toward where Rukia waited.

Their eyes met.

The deep, purple depths of Rukia’s gaze trembled with barely contained emotion. Byakuya stared steadily back, and tried to give her the strength to face her death with honor.

“A perfected soul,” Byakuya’s grandfather had told him, “Shows no trace of human emotion. Emotions are a weakness, a chain that holds us down. They cloud the ability to act swiftly and without reservation.” 

Ruthless. Merciless. Those were the kindest words bestowed on Byakuya in Academy and that had followed him throughout his captaincy. There were so many others whispered behind his back: cold, cruel… inhuman.

But, it wasn’t coldness that brought him to stand beside Rukia now. He was here because he could hold her in his reistsu as he had last night. He could be her nii-sama, one last time--a strength to lean on. It might be his responsibility to his family to let Central take Rukia’s life over nothing, but it was also his duty as an older brother to make sure she didn’t die alone.

He turned away at last to take his place with the others. 

So few captains. Where was Ukitake? Was he so weak that he couldn’t even stand beside Rukia on her last day? And, why, of all people, was that drunken Kyōraku here, giving Byakuya an annoyingly sympathetic look from under his straw hat? Still, Byakuya would remember those who came and those who did not.

Settling deeper into Sebonzakura’s song, Byakuya waited for the arrival of the Captain-Commander and the beginning of the end.

#

Someone had healed Renji and brought him a new uniform. 

Byakuya knew his attention should be on all the other chaos. Kyōraku and Ukitake had turned traitor to try to save Rukia. That upstart ryoka, Ichigo Kurosaki, destroyed the Sōkyoku and was trampling on all of their sacred traditions. In fact, that maddening boy was standing casually on top of the Sōkyoku with Rukia held like a sack of rice, and he was bickering with Renji. 

But, as Byakuya watched the exchange between Renji, Rukia and Ichigo, all he could think was: Renji tied his hair back and somehow had gotten his hands on one of those ridiculous white bandanas. Yet, he looked… stunning. The sunlight caught on the fire-red of his hair and reflected the passion in his eyes. Not a scratch of a single one of Senbonzakura’s thousand blades could be seen on him. Even Zabimaru was returned whole and sound. 

It was as if they hadn’t fought at all.

Why did that thought warm Byakuya’s heart? At the very least he should be angry that he’d not even managed to slow Renji down. 

Suddenly, Rukia was in Renji’s arms and they were running. The Captain-Commander said something to the effect of ‘let him go, he’s only a lieutenant.’ It was an utterly foolish and misguided order that Byakuya was more than happy to obey. 

Suì-Fēng sent several lieutenants after Kurosaki, but Byakuya knew they wouldn’t be nearly strong enough.

Should he await an order? No, Byakuya would take pleasure bringing Kurosaki to heel. Kurosaki had started it all with his disregard for Rukia’s honor. Now he’d face the consequences of disrespecting a Kuchiki.

#

“The battle is yours.”

Byakuya wasn’t even sure where he was going. It was difficult enough to put one foot in front of the other, but he kept moving forward. 

His body was in pain, but the silence in his head was starker and more biting than any wound.

Byakuya’s mind rattled with the quiet. He hadn’t been without Senbonzakura’s song for over a hundred years. But, his zanpaktō had been broken by Kurosaki’s ferocity. There was a heaviness in this hush, but Byakuya found that without Senbonzakura’s calming influence he couldn’t keep the jumble of his own emotions at bay.

Did the boy have a point—beyond the one that had skewered him, that was? 

Byakuya lifted his chin despite his dragging limbs. No, upholding the law and tradition was a shinigami’s greatest duty. As the head of one of the noblest clans, Byakuya would not relax his guard, ever. 

Yet, here he was… walking away. He’d told Kurosaki that he would pursue Rukia no more. That had been easy to promise. He’d already allowed Renji to run away with her; he had even secretly prayed that they were far, far away by now. Even if they encountered resistance, Byakuya knew that Renji would lay down his life again and again if it meant protecting Rukia. And, now Ichigo was free to protect her as well. If they managed this, despite the law—well, then it was in the hands of fate. No one could say he had not tried to stop the boy. Senbonzakura’s defeat was obvious. 

Clearly, Ichigo Kurosaki was simply unstoppable. Perhaps his immense passion could even find a way to avoid justice for them all forever.

If Central was relentless and insisted on continuing after them, Byakuya would do what he should have done from the start: recuse himself. If he had to, he would stand in front of Central and tell them the truth: he could no more take Rukia’s life than he could his own. Nor could he be asked to kill Renji. Even if it brought tremendous shame to the family, he would admit to the world that _love_ stayed his hand. He loved them both too much to be responsible for their death. Let others do it. He would not.

If he lost his captaincy over this… well, then he’d be the disappointment his grandfather always expect him to be. “It’s true,” he told the wind, and the memory of his grandfather’s stern face, “I am weak with emotion. It consumes me. But, can a soul truly be perfect without love?”

No. He was never more perfect than when he held Hisana in his arms. For her memory, he would no longer stand in the way of Rukia’s rescuers. He wouldn’t break the law himself, but neither would he stop others from doing it.

Then, Byakuya felt the Tentei Kûra. 

He listened to its message; his heart growing hot with anger. The law he’d fought so hard to uphold had been a lie. All of it had been Aizen’s plots.

_Rukia._

He turned into a flash-step. Perhaps there was still time to make this right. Maybe, if he acted swiftly enough, she would even forgive him.

#

Renji woke up to see Captain Unohana smiling down at him. “My, my,” she said, her big, kind eyes shining. “Is it bankai that makes you so quick to recover?”

“Uh…,” Renji wasn’t sure what the right answer was, but he couldn’t lie to Captain Unohana. So he just said, “Probably?”

She sat down on the edge of an empty nearby bed, and folded her hand on her lap. “Is it a secret I need to keep for you, like your friend Madarame?”

“Whatever. I don’t care,” Renji waved off her question trying to sit up. “Is Rukia…?”

“Fine,” she smiled, her eyes crinkling. “As is your companion--the orange-haired ryoka, Ichigo, is it? Captain Kuchiki, however, is much slower to recover. Ichimaru’s zanpaktō is poison-type.”

Renji had struggled up. He caught his breath, leaning his back against the headboard. “When did Byakuya join the fight? Are you saying he… how did he get hit by Ichimaru?”

She stood up and offered her arm as support. “Perhaps you’d like to sit with his sister? I’m sure Ms. Rukia can answer all your questions.”

See Byakuya? Renji wasn't sure about that idea at all, but he took Unohana's arm. "Fine. I guess if you want me to hear it from Rukia, we can go." 

#

Of course, Captain Unohana had Byakuya brought back to the estate. She was wise enough to know he’d be well cared for, and, ultimately more comfortable there than in a crowded hospital ward. She left Renji at the door, and the house steward led Renji through the many halls.

Renji followed along silently, and was surprised when the steward paused and cleared his throat. “I’m sure when his lordship awakes he’ll be pleased to see that you’re well.”

“Are you kidding me?” Renji snorted. “We tried to kill each other. I’m here to talk to the Lady Kuchiki, not to see his fucking ‘lordship.’”

“Oh. I see,” The steward said coolly. He’d stopped at the bottom of a staircase and turned to face Renji. “You’re clearly unaware of the arrangements my lord made on your behalf.”

“Arrangements? Yeah, you’re right. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Follow me,” the steward sniffed.

“I thought I was,” Renji muttered in irritation as the steward turned from the stairs, and, instead, lead Renji into the servant’s quarters of the estate. With a sigh, Renji trudged grudgingly along the back ways. Until, finally, the steward came to a door in a section that Renji had never ventured into. After a gentle knock, an old woman’s voice beckoned them in.

His curiosity piqued, Renji ducked into the large room. Thread dust filled the air. Materials of all sorts were piled everywhere, several items—half-finished-- were displayed on Byakuya-sized wicker models. Cabinets lined the walls full of spools of thread, beads and ribbons. Among all of this finery, stood a bent, old woman. Her long white hair was tied back in a simple braid, and she wore the black kimono of the Kuchiki staff.

She was slowly plucking threads from a resplendent white kimono displayed on a dressmaker dummy. Renji’s eyes were drawn to the bright red thread she pulled.

“Stop,” Renji breathed, making his way over to stand beside her. She’d been undoing an embroidered silver-maned nue. Its mouth was open, baring teeth and snarling at a single white plum blossom. Its huge body curled over the kimono’s shoulder. The tail, which had been inlaid with pearl-drop scales, snaked around the back. 

The seamstress blinked up at Renji and held the thread she’d been plucking up to his hair as though to compare them. “Hmmm,” she muttered, “Should have gone even a shade brighter.”

Renji turned in wordless question to the steward who remained standing at the door.

“She began as soon as word reached us that you’d fallen in the field,” the steward said.

Renji looked again at the funeral kimono, “But... it was his hand that struck me down.”

The steward dropped his head in acknowledgment, “Yet, it was over his heart you would have rested.”

Renji couldn’t believe it. He turned back to the kimono. Sure enough, the plum blossom ad the nue shared the space over what would be Byakuya’s heart. Renji shook his head, “Where was he planning on wearing this? No one would have paid to bury me in the dirt.”

The steward gave Renji a small, sad smile. “Indeed? Do you have any idea how grand a funeral your shroud would have bought? The Spirit King would be hard pressed to match it.”

“My… what?”

“Shroud,” the steward said slowly, as if explaining to a child. “Lord Kuchiki draped your body in his wildflower silk scarf. It was returned to the household by a dutiful young gentleman from the Sixth. We at the estate understood the significance of such a gesture, even if you don’t.”

Renji rubbed the back of his neck and looked between the seamstress and the steward. Finally, he said, “Okay, so what does it mean?”

“I means, Lieutenant Abarai, had you not recovered we would have born your body to the estate where it would have lain in state among the honored dead—the Kuchiki dead. We would have been expected to treat it with all the respect usually reserved only for members of the family.”

Renji was speechless. They had to be mistaken. “Family? Are you sure?”

“Oh. Yes, quite,” the steward sniffed unhappily. “Believe me, the thought kept me up all night praying for your complete recovery. I have never been more grateful in my life to see you healthy. I’m eternally indebted to your nursemaid. He or she has spared the Kuchiki household no end of shame.”

“Red on a funeral robe,” the seamstress clucked her tongue in agreement. “Thank gods you lived, boy. My reputation would have been ruined for committing such a social faux pas.”

“Heh,” Renji snorted. “Well, you’re welcome, I guess.”

“Now,” the steward said with a little beckoning bow. “Let us see to his ‘fucking’ lordship, shall we?”


End file.
